People Gave Good Head(er)

Posted on November 19, 2012 | 50 comments

Maybe I could have pimped this contest more aggressively.

But honestly, I didn’t think anyone was going to design a new header for me.

I prepared to write a conciliatory speech on Thanksgiving Day and then beg TechSupport to fill that space with his mad Photoshop skills. I knew he would demand full creative license and banish me from hovering about while he worked. We would have a power struggle but eventually come to an agreement whereby I would be allowed to check in a three times for 2.2 seconds each — just to make sure he was on the right track. And, of course, he would demand the $25 that I’d promised the winning entrant — but he would negotiate to receive his pay in  iTunes cards.

Thankfully, five people actually entered the contest to design my new header.

And herein lies the problem.

I love all of them.

Seriously. I adore them.

Do you know Steve from Brown Road Chronicles? Steve lives in Michigan where he writes about country living, old houses, dirt roads, raising kids with his hot wife and other amusing anecdotes. He also sings songs that will make you swoon. He made this:

Val Erde from Arty old Bird made two totally different headers. An artist herself, Val is incredibly generous and allows people to use work from her blog, so long as you follow the guidelines regarding attribution listed there. If you are looking for fun posts and fresh images, you will want to visit Val’s place. She made this:

And this:

Jules from Go Jules Go is my sweet chipmunk-loving pal. Even though she was busy getting interviewed by WordPress as a featured Blogger while taking night classes on web design, and living without electricity after Hurricane Sandy, she still had time to hide out in her mother’s house send me this piece of work.

Adding text so you can see the white border.

Then I received entries from two people who said they would prefer to remain anonymous. Can you imagine? No linky-love? No mention of their names on my blog? Just happy to do me a favor. I have great friends.

So I need to thank SuperCoolPerson#1 for this:

And SuperCoolPerson#2 for this:

I want my header to be something that I love and find visually appealing.

And I can’t give everyone the prize or I’ll be in the poorhouse!

I know who my winner is.

I think.

Come back and find out on Thanksgiving Day when that header will be in place.

Unless I screwed up and gave everyone the wrong dimensions. Which would suck.

50 Comments

Posted in Writing Life

Tagged , , ,

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! My 45th b’day faves!

Posted on November 16, 2012 | Leave a comment

Holy shizzlesticks! My birthday weekend started off so much better than last year when everyone in my entire family forgot about it!

On Saturday, I found out that I had been Freshly Pressed for my latest post about Coming Clean About My Age.

Tagged for “aging.” Nice.

Everyone knows that the folks at WordPress smoke crack never pick your best piece to be FP’d, right? But, hey, I’m not one to look a birthday gifthorse in the mouth, so I’ll just say: Yay! *fist pump woot woot* and welcome to my new subscribers! And to you new peeps, I beg of you to click on anything else. Seriously, go back into the archives and just click on something. That piece was not representative of my writing prowess. *rolls eyes*

But I still retweeted their tweet! Don’t judge me.

Before he left to go golfing this morning, Hubby brought in Saturday’s mail, and I saw I’d received 17 holiday catalogues, a few bills, and an envelope filled with coupons for hair removal.

But.

There was also a card from my parents which included their traditional gift: a check made out in the amount of the number of years I’ve been on the planet plus one extra dollar for good luck. So I’m pretty sure I’m going to DSW at some point this week. The card also contained sentimental words from my mother and the annual birthday poem composed by my father. (Last year, my parents sent me an empty envelope. It’s true.  But my dad emailed me my birthday poem a few days later.) As I was reading their card, they called to sing “The Birthday Song.” Thanks for sharing 50% of your DNA with me, Mom & Dad!

I got a lot of Facebook love and a bunch of sweet tweets. But a really great one came from Dawn Sticklen and Amy Stevens. I kind of played yenta and helped to connect them out there in Missouri. They obviously met up for a cuppa Joe and sent me a little birthday love!

Thanks @AmyStevens_ & @JoMoBlgger! You two talk amongst yourselves!

Later our very hot FedEx guy came bearing a package from my brother and my sister in law and their family.

Gorgeous b’day flowers.

While I was outside, I saw I’d received another package. It was just sitting there all lonely on my front stoop. I ripped into it and found an autographed copy of Fabio Bueno‘s new book Wicked Sense. I can’t wait to start it — right after I start finish this month’s neighborhood book club selection.

Back in the house, I showered and dressed in my long purple gown. You know the way you would on the Sunday morning of your 45th year. I went outside to chat it up with my neighbors when who came sidling up my driveway? Jeff Probst! I was like: Whaaaaaat?

That’s when he told me I am going to be a contestant on Survivor25.

Can you believe CBS let Jeff come over on my birthday?

Or Amber West sent me this sweet picture which made me smile and consider what life would be like as a brunette.

I swear, I’m chortling in my joy.

Who knows what the rest of the day might hold in store, but so far this has been a very good day. Thanks to all of you for staying with me to celebrate yet another birthday! I’m closing comments because I feel like I already got plenty of comment love HERE.

Leave a comment

Posted in Writing Life

Tagged , , , , , ,

Coming Clean About My Age

Posted on November 14, 2012 | 188 comments

My birthday is coming up, y’all.

Yup, this summer girl was born in November.

You know what that means.

My parents got busy around Valentine’s Day.

It means this year I turn 50.

Whaaat?

Well, kind of.

Lucy watches Little Ricky's birthday party fro...

Lucy watches Little Ricky’s birthday party from the window ledge. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Lucille Ball once said:

“The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly and lie about your age.”

How much do I Love Lucy?

Here’s the 411.

When I first started teaching, I was 23, just a few years older than some of my 12th grade students!

When I introduced myself, I made a point of tacking on a few extra years. I said I was 25. Seven extra years seemed like the right amount of padding.

When I moved to New Orleans, I continued to add years. I felt I needed the cushion, so parents would nod and smile instead of raise disapproving eyebrows. And so my students would believe I was seasoned and complete my assignments without giving me grief.

I never lied to my employers. The Headmaster and English Department Chair at Metairie Park Country day School knew precisely how green old I was when I was hired.

A few years ago, I realized I’ve been in my 40’s for nearly fifteen years.

And that made me remember my grandmother who told people she was 29.

For decades.

After she stopped wearing wigs and wore her thinning hair in loose ponytails wrapped in twine, she was 29. After her eyes dulled and her skin wrinkled, she was 29. After her toenails yellowed and her remaining teeth fell out of her mouth, she was 29.

It was preposterous.

No-one bought it. It was silly and a little pitiful.

I vowed to go the other way.

So I padded.

This year, I could have told my students that I was 50.

Because if you tack on five extra years…well, I look pretty freaking good for 50, right?

Feeling groovy.

And yet.

I’ve kind of caught up with myself.

These days, I am grateful for this body that continues to get me where it needs to go – even if I sometimes have headaches and get dizzy and fall down. I am grateful for my eyes, which still appreciate all the beauty around me – even if the view is a little blurry. I just have to remember to find put on my glasses. I will never have pretty model’s hands, but I have four fingers that help me to tap out what I want to say. Fingers that help me punch buttons on the phone to speak to old friends and new. Fingers that are attached to hands that reach out to offer assistance, to squeeze shoulders. Hands that are attached to arms which can swallow people up in hugs. And even if my vocal cords are toasted, I realized I have these things called ears that work really well, too.

So the jig is up.

Lucy, we’re back to living honestly.

On Sunday, I’ll be 45.

Right where I’m supposed to be.

A wife.

A mother.

A daughter.

A contestant on Survivor.

Just kidding.

But a girl can hold onto her dreams, right?

Have you ever lied about your age? How are you doing with the growing older thing? 

tweet me @rasjacobson

188 Comments

Posted in Freshly Pressed

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

How Facebook Reconnected Me To My Ex-BoyFriend’s Wonky Groove

Posted on November 12, 2012 | 72 comments

Gratitude to Loretta Stephenson @WANA Commons for the use of this image

Not long ago, I received a private message on Facebook from a stranger who turned out to be one of my ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriends.

This woman expressed concern that her ex – a man I used to live with – might be unstable, perhaps dangerous, and she hoped I could provide her with some background to help her understand what had happened in my now twenty years dead relationship.

I remembered the good things first.

How he brought me flowers and played with my curls. How we’d hiked and biked, ridden horses and picked wildflowers. How he gave me heart-shaped rocks.

How he made me feel.

After someone else had left me broken.

We played house in a rat-infested shack.

We went to university, learned our professions well.

But one day, he accused me of eating all his peaches.

And the next day, he stopped listening to my poetry.

He went out late and came home later, smelling of beer.

I learned he slept with another woman.

When I decided to leave, he came home as I was gathering up my last box of things and shoved me against a wall.

With his hands pressed against my shoulders, he shouted too close to my face. “You promised you’d never leave!”

Then he slid to the floor.

I kept moving.

Because I knew it was a trap.

He’d always used my words against me, twisted things around to make me feel like I was in the wrong. I was tired of being the bad one.

He followed me outside to my car. It was summer, and he stood on the hot driveway wearing shorts and wool socks as he leaned against my open window.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” His long eyelashes were wet. “You’re just like everyone else.”

I remembered I’d left my purple and green tapestry inside, but I decided he could have it.

Because I wasn’t going back.

Alone in my new apartment, I mourned the death of our love. I remembered how he begged me to stop taking my birth control pills. We’ll make beautiful babies together, he had whispered in my ear as we laid together on our futon in the dark.

Somehow I knew his words were wishes, not promises. They were just words without rings or commitment attached.

Somehow I knew to get out.

In the Facebook message from the ex-girlfriend, I learned there is a collection of women who have been wined and dined, then made to feel small, cheated on, and dumped by this same man.

If this is true, it means that for decades, he has brought one woman after another into his home. That he has fathered children, but abandoned their mothers.

I was sad.

Because I’d always said if he couldn’t find happiness with me, I’d hoped he could find it with someone else.

And I was sincere when I said that.

But it sounds like he is still tortured by the devils that were chasing him when we first met, that he has become the person he said he would never be.

I also learned I have a bit of a reputation.

Apparently, I’m “The Smart One Who Got Away.”

And that is partly true.

I did get away.

But I hate hearing that this man is broken, a scratched up record with the needle stuck in the same rut, and that this wonky groove is still the rhythm of his life.

And I hate hearing that he is smearing women against the sky.

Have you ever received second-hand news about a lost love? What did you learn? What did you say? Feel?

tweet me @rasjacobson

72 Comments

Posted in Memoir, Relationships, Technology

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Little Orange Balls: A Completely Unsolicited Guest Post by K.B. Owen

Posted on November 8, 2012 | 39 comments

K.B. Owen is a true cyber buddy. She listened to me whimper when my computer crashed and when I had some medical stuff going on. And she sent me this amazing “extended comment” in response to my Tingo Tuesday post. I had to share it here. Because it is that awesome, and because it should give you some idea of how talented and giving K.B. Owen is. Check out her blog and follow her on Twitter @kbowenwriter! Kathy is truly one of the most wonder tweeps out there.

If you’d like to win a chance to win some December sidebar linky-love, you are up against K.B. and a bunch of other folks. The comments are amazing, and you can enter to win until November 30. Interested? You don’t have to be a blogger to win. Click HERE for details.

• • •

My Grief Bacon, by K.B. Owen

My “Grief Bacon” story involves the blizzard of 2010 – aka “Snowmageddon, ” “Snowpocalypse,” “Snowzilla,” and “snOMG”… and cheeseballs.

Yep, cheeseballs. I know, I’m not proud of it. I’d much rather be carrying around this surplus fifteen pounds because of homemade butter spritz cookies, or macaroni and cheese, or even pie, but it’s really the cheeseballs that did it.

Target is partly to blame.

(No, really. But I’ll get back to that in a moment.)

So, anyway, the Blizzard was coming. The weather forecasters in Northern Virginia – who don’t see much in the way of snow on a regular basis, I might add – were practically wetting themselves in excitement. Our local weather guy has a “Bread-O-Meter” that he pulls out when he makes snow predictions on the air. It’s named after how fast the bread goes flying off the shelves when folks around here start panicking, even when there’s only a dusting of snow on the ground. For the first time in the 20+ years that I’ve been living in the area, his Bread-O-Meter was a 10 – a designation he also refers to as “Run for the Hills.”

Hmm…looks like I need to get ready! I have to admit that I was excited. We don’t see much snow around here, and it sounded like we’d be digging tunnels out of the stuff (and we were). Time to inventory the gloves, hats, boots, flashlights, batteries, Parmalat, etc.

List in hand, I headed to Target because they have everything – food, DVDs, batteries, clothing – all in one place. We had to be prepared for a possible power outage, and since we didn’t have an SUV, we needed to be able to stick it out at home.

So I’m doing fine, making my way through the list, being sensible in my food choices (non-perishable, nutritious, etc), when I see…this ENORMOUS clear plastic bin of cheeseballs. As high as my knee, and the size of a tall drum. O.M.G. This was the sort of thing I’d pass by when the boys were little. They’d be sitting in their shopping cart seats, and point to it and drool.

Ooh! Can we get that?

Nooo.

Mmmmm....Cheeseballs

Mmmmm….Cheeseballs (Photo credit: phot0matt)

But this time, it was different. My survival instincts were kicking in. I knew those cheeseballs  would keep forever. Fat calories for keeping warm. And yummy.

In retrospect, I’m not quite sure what was going through my brain, but I put it in my cart.

The boys were super-impressed with mom plunking this huge canister of cheeseballs on top of the fridge. Hubster rolled his eyes.

The devil had entered our house.

But I was blissfully ignorant. I had visions of the pretty snow, of kids sledding and building forts and missing school, of me making hot chocolate and drying mittens and boots beside the fire while reading, my hubby home from work to hang out with us.

And you know what? That was all true.

But then we got a little bored, and the kids couldn’t really play in snow that was so deep they kept sinking into it up to their hips; hubby and I had work to do, but shoveling was all we could accomplish (and where to put the stuff was our biggest mental challenge). The schools were closed, the roads were closed, the stores were closed. And it was okay; we were making do. We knew it was temporary.

But the cheeseballs had become an extra guest in our house. That canister was so easy to dip into. It’s okay, I thought, as I filled another bowl. I’ll be shoveling snow later. So we’d play a board game, and I’d munch on cheeseballs. The boys ate some, too, but I think I was the one who kept going back to it, again and again, until it was gone.

I feel stuffed just thinking about it.

Here’s one of the pics from the blizzard. Our cars are in there somewhere.

There are cars under there, people!

• • •

My thoughts are with the folks who are experiencing yet another storm. I hope everybody got their batteries and their water. And their cheeseballs. Stay warm.

39 Comments

Posted in Guest Writers

Tagged , , , , ,

Tingo Tuesday: Tell Me About Your Grief Bacon

Posted on November 6, 2012 | 75 comments
Cover of

Cover via Amazon

It’s Tingo Tuesday!

The first Tuesday of each month, I share a word from The Meaning of Tingo & Other Extraordinary Words From Around the World by Adam Jacot de Boinod.

Today, I’m telling you about a German word.

You know that excess weight that you gain from emotional eating? Germans call that “kummerspeck.” It literally means “grief bacon.”

Now, I have to admit, I’m not big on the pig. I know Americans have this bizarre love for bacon that, frankly, has me bewildered. It has to be the most un-heart-smart food, since, like… ever.

But.

I totally get the idea behind being so emotionally devastated that you tried to fill the hole with food. I remember how I felt when Tad dumped me when I told him I wouldn’t give him a blowjob.  I cried forever. I totally gorged on grief bacon.

And Ho-Ho’s.

I love that other cultures have language for the actions and concepts for which we haven’t necessarily got the right words.

So here’s the way it works!

Leave me a real or fictional comment about a time when you ate a lot of grief bacon.

I’ll pick one comment I love the most.

If you are a blogger, I will announce your identity and slip a photo of you into my side bar which will link to your blog so people can check you out all month. If you’re not a blogger, don’t worry. I will let everyone know how smart you are.

This month’s winner is Amber West from A Day Without Sushi.

THIS is where Amber left the comment that impressed TechSupport, and made her sweep this thing. Enjoy your time in my sidebar, Amber. You look so natural there.

Now, tell me about your “kummerspeck” moment. What happened, pookie? And what did you munch? You have until November 30th to be considered for the spot in my sidebar.

tweet me @rasjacobson

75 Comments

Posted in Tingo Tuesday

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

Do You Think I Could Survive?

Posted on November 2, 2012 | 92 comments

I don’t watch a lot of television.

But my DVR is set every Thursday night.

I am a Survivor Junkie.

I’ve watched Survivor ever since the very first episode aired back in 2000.

I remember sitting in front of the television, wishing wishing wishing that I wasn’t 7 months pregnant.

I know that sounds terrible, but seriously. Why didn’t that show come out two years earlier?

From that moment on, I’ve dreamed about being on Survivor.

I remember watching the season when the contestants were in Australia. People were severely dehydrated, their beautiful bodies became skeletal. A participant had to be evacuated because of injuries.

And yet.

I still wanted to do it.

Each season has offered surprises.

There have been tribal swaps and fake merges. Sometimes tribes have been divided by gender; sometimes by age, once by race Sometimes both tribes have had to share the same beach. They introduced hidden immunity idols in Survivor Guatemala, and I thought: Freaking Brilliant!

I have watched contestants lie in an effort to win the big prize, and I have watched contestants struggle, trying to remain true to their morals knowing in order to win they would have to break their own personal code of ethics — if they wanted to win.

I have also watched contestants who have played for the love of the game. For those players, it hasn’t been about the money. It has been about the adventure.

Each season, I have thought, One day. I will be on that show.

I have applied before.

And I have been rejected.

My husband laughs at me. He says Survivor is played out. He can’t believe I still watch it. My son now watches with me, but he thinks I’d be voted off at the first tribal council.

Nice, right?

The other day, I saw CBS was doing a casting call.

And I thought, My “baby” is 13 years old now.

I can do this.

I want to do this.

So I did.

This is my 4th time.

I’d love to show you the video I sent, but I don’t know if that could get me disqualified.

But I’ll show you that I started out wearing this:

Hi. I’m Renée. I have sparkly glasses…

And then I ended up wearing this:

…but, if vision is optional, I will work the hotness factor.

I really would love to know how I would do in such an intensely physical and mental game.

Right now, I am learning how to make fire without flint.

I’m reading up on all kinds of tips about how to survive out in nature.

Because I want this.

So cross your fingers for me.

Because, as dorky as it sounds, being on Survivor is my 13-year-old dream.

And I’d love to make it come true.

How do you think I’d do? And what ONE luxury item do you think would be wise to bring alone?

tweet me @rasjacobson

Blogger Deb Bryan’s husband was on Survivor and you can be sure that when Deb wrote THIS interview, I sat up and paid attention! Ba.D, you better believe that if I make it through this round, I’m going to find you and ask for tips!

92 Comments

Posted in When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

When a Walk in the Park is Not a Walk in the Park

Posted on October 29, 2012 | 88 comments

“A girl from school wrote that she was going to kill herself on Facebook.”

Up until then, the leaves under our feet made swishy, dry sounds. But I stopped moving.

I needed to sit down, but he didn’t want to so I had to keep walking.

“She said goodbye and everything. I didn’t find out about it until after it happened.”

I held my breath as we passed the trees that had turned gold.

Tinker Park. Henrietta, New York. Fall 2012

“Is she okay?” I asked, praying hard for this girl who was suddenly with us like the wind in the trees.

“Her friends contacted her mother or something. She’s in the hospital.”

“Do you know her?” I shoved my hands in my pockets.

“Not really. I found out from a friend.”

We stopped at the water’s edge and found each other’s eyes.

“I want you to promise me something.”

My son looked at me. He knew what I was going to say. But I said it anyway.

“If someone threatens to hurt themselves or someone else on Facebook or in a text or in real life, you have to promise me that you will take it seriously.”

“I will.”

“No matter where I am. You have to contact me. I’ll help you do whatever we need to do.”

My son tilted his chin. “Sometimes you can’t answer your phone.”

He had me there. Because when I am teaching, I can’t take calls. Or answer texts.

The wind blew cool air though my sweater.

“You know what I mean. You can leave me a message. I can check messages. If there is an emergency, I can always make time.”

My son nodded.

The sun was going down as we turned down the mossy path.

As my feet moved, I thought about the girl’s mother. How terrified she had to be.

I thought of a car accident that occurred just a few miles down the road: how a young driver had been speeding through a residential neighborhood and smashed into a bus. They could have all been killed, but they weren’t.

I thought of my son who has been quiet lately. How we don’t connect the way we used to. How I don’t know what he does for most of his day. How he is going on a trip to New York City on a school field-trip in a few weeks.

I won’t be there.

And what if he needs me?

“Mom,” Tech called. He’d stopped to inspect something on the ground. “Come check out this bug carcass.”

I looked at my son. I thought he was going to say thank you. Or run over and hug me. Or tell me how glad he was that we had talked. I thought a lot of things. But he didn’t do or say any of the things he used to do and say so readily.

“Let me take a picture of you,” he said, holding out his hand for the camera.

So I posed for him.

“You okay?” he asked, a line creased his forehead.

I told him that I was fine, but it was a lie.

Because 8th graders shouldn’t be thinking about killing themselves.

They shouldn’t be thinking about dying.

Back at the car, we noticed our shadows.

“My shadow is taller than yours,” my son smiled. “I’m catching up to you.”

I looked at the red and the yellow and the green around me. I looked at my son in his maroon hoodie which will soon be too small for him. A gust blew some leaves off the trees. They soared over our heads and then fell on the grass, quivering.

I know time is passing, but is it so wrong to want things to stay like this for a little while longer?

I’m not ready for winter.

When is the last time you slowed down, unplugged and took a walk with someone you care about? Do me a favor, call someone you haven’t talked to in a while. Or write that person a letter. Do something to show someone you care about them today. What is one beautiful thing you can do to show someone they are important to you? Or (conversely), what do you wish someone would do or say to you today. Let me be that person.

tweet me @rasjacobson

88 Comments

Posted in Parenting, Technology

Tagged , , , , , , ,

End of the Month MashUp of Hotness: October 2012

Posted on October 28, 2012 | 50 comments

I know. I know. It’s been a while since I’ve done a mash-up.

But big stuff has been going on, people.

See those birds up on that tree in my neighbors’ backyard? That means Frankenstorm is on the way. Seriously? The one year that my kid actually made a plan, bought a costume, and I actually purchased candy in advance? And we’re going to have a major storm? Are you kidding me? We’d better have some people at our door. Or else I’ll be going door to door tossing candy in everyone’s mailboxes. Sorry USPS. You guys lost the package I tried to send my niece and nephew last year, so I figure you owe me one.

*smile*

Oh, and check it out! Look at the bottom right hand corner of that photo! I learned how to put a watermark on my pictures! So there’s proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks.

With that, here is some delicious stuff that I read this month in no particular order.

• • •

Le Clown wrote about All Hallows’ Eve. And it is freakin’ hilarious. If you don’t know Le Clown On Fire. He’s from Montreal and he’s magnifique. Like all the time. I know he’s a clown, but don’t be scared. He’s a good clown.

ATeachableMom wrote “You’re Only Hugging Me So You Can Wipe Your Nose On My Shirt.” Funny stuff, Mary.

Leanne Shirtliffe (aka: Ironic Mom) shared a powerful tip about the power of acting crazy. I can vouch: everything she says works in and out of the classroom.

Editor for Writer’s Digest Books (& a trillion other things) Chuck Sambuchino wrote a fabulous & terrifying article at Writer Unboxed about how to really interpret those statistics you’ve got on your blogs. I’ve never seen anything like his analysis before, and I have to tell you, it is humbling. Find out if you are notable, impressive or very impressive. Then prepare to curl up in your corners.

Imagine an actor reading your manuscript and stopping when he thought it sucked! 7 Reasons Agents Stop Reading Your First Chapter is a must read for aspiring writers.

Nina Badzin hung out with KludgyMom (two of my favorite bloggers in one place!), and wrote about how teaching kids to be unique is sometimes easier said than done.

Kimberly Speranza of Sperk* wrote a lovely & raw response at Erin Margolin‘s blog about why she started blogging. I am now fiercely following Kimberly.

Alexandra Rosas of Good Day, Regular People is a writing machine. But her three-part series called Red Flags was something else. And October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Guess what? Every month should be. Start at Part I. You won’t be able to stop.

On a lighter note, I know she said the deadline has passed, but I’ll bet that Jules’ would totally take late entries for her Halloween Hat Contest at Go Jules Go. (If you don’t, I’m gonna win. Or not.)

Tech savvy folks still have time to enter my contest to make me a header. Just do it. You know you want to. Now that I know how to make a watermark, I mean, there is a chance I might figure this shizz out all by myself.

*wipes brow*

Was it good for you?

tweet me @rasjacobson

 

50 Comments

Posted in Mash-Ups

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

An Old Flame, Doused

Posted on October 26, 2012 | 57 comments

I have often reveled in the wrongness of things.

Growing up, I cut Barbie’s hair and pushed straight pins through her ears.

I told people I was making earrings, but mostly I wanted to make holes in Barbie’s face.

As a teen, I gravitated toward recklessness. Once, on vacation with friends, I disappeared on the beach to kiss a boy whose name I didn’t know. My friends were mad, but I chose the taste of cigarettes and beer on a stranger’s lips over my own safety.

For a while, I was in an unhealthy relationship.

We had an understanding.

Kind of.

I mean, he created the rules.

And he meant well, I’m sure, with his flattery and charm.

When he touched me, I swooned with gratitude.

Because he knew how to make me feel.

Not too long ago, I ran into this person.

Though he had aged, I remembered his dimple, how easily he could undo me with a word or a look. And I was surprised at how, after all these years, my body still responded to his touch.

I watched his mouth move and remembered the place where confidence collided with arrogance.

I saw how little he had changed.

I know he believes he is a good person.

But I know him to be a juggler who thrives off secrets and lies.

A person who craves power and uses people as playthings.

For a time, I allowed myself to be part of his secret life.

Allowed myself twice to be used and discarded.

In an odd way, seeing this person again helped reaffirm the treasures that I have at home.

Things that should not be trivialized.

It’s funny. I don’t crave recklessness the way I used to.

And secrets taste like vinegar on my lips.

So while I enjoy more than my fair share of double-entendres and flirtations, there are places where I draw the line.

Danger paired with exhilaration can feel something close to love.

But it isn’t.

Ever run into an old flame? Someone who was not good for you? What was that like? Do you revel in wrongness? How far are you willing to go?

This week, writers were asked to use this photograph to inspire our post. My piece is a hybrid between fiction & non-fiction. We had 450 words. I got it done in 386.

tweet me @rasjacobson

57 Comments

Posted in Memoir, Relationships, Sexuality

Tagged , , , , ,